


I Want to Break Free from (My) Lies

by irleggsy



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Beta Read, Period-Typical Homophobia, Real People as Fictional Characters, Self-Hatred, Whump, maybe brian/freddie later on, why is no one talking about the self hatred that comes with being gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irleggsy/pseuds/irleggsy
Summary: “There is everything wrong with me liking John!” Brian stumbled back, shocked by the ferocity of Roger's words. “Beginning with the fact that I’m not a bloody faggot!”Silence.“Oh,” Brian choked out. Roger crushed the filter in a tray, broken. “So that’s what this is about.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the gist:
> 
> I'm hitting a pretty rough patch in my life. And I guess it's less that the piece needed to be written and more that I needed to write it. 
> 
> So, here it is, in its nicotine-fueled, un-beta'd, ooc, completely inaccurate, and very much not brit-picked glory. If I have time to continue it, or if I feel like continuing it, it'll probably be a series of drabbles/vignettes, and less so a complete story. So if anyone's interested in beta reading my incomplete drafts... I'd love that. 
> 
> oh, and just to clarify: I abhor the idea of real person fiction (or, at the very least, am super uncomfortable by it) so this is more about the characters in bohemian rhapsody and less the real people they are based on. no shame if you write RPF, it's just not for me. comprende? comprende. awesome. 
> 
> Please critique this so I know what I can do better next time I write. Thanks.

“I know it, Freddie knows it—the only people who haven’t figured it out are you and John,” Brian burst out.

 

Roger laughed, borderline hysterical. “I don’t know what you’re going on about,” He brought a trembling hand to his mouth and took a long drag of his cigarette. _God, I need a drink._

 

“Christ Roger, I’ve known you forever. You think I don’t notice the way you look at him like he’s hung the moon and the stars?”

 

He could feel his clothes becoming too hot, too restricting. “I don’t—“ Roger stuttered, mouth suddenly dry. “What? Are you out of your mind?”

 

He scoffed. “Really?” Brian threw his hands up. “I don’t understand why you’re acting so childish. There’s nothing wrong with you liking John,“

 

Roger slammed his fist on the counter, jabbing a finger into Brian’s chest. “There is everything wrong with me liking John!” Brian stumbled back, shocked by the ferocity of his words. “Beginning with the fact that I’m not a _bloody_ faggot!”

 

There was a piercing, terse silence. _I’ve really done it this time_ , he thought. Roger’s finger itched to smoke, but he was already down to the filter, practically holding ashes in his shaky hands. He couldn’t take the silence that seemed to fill up every corner of the room.

 

“Oh,” Brian choked out. Roger crushed the filter in a tray.  “So that’s what this is about.”

 

He flicked open his zippo, a new cigarette already precariously balanced in between his teeth. _It’s not too late to take it back,_ a voice said.

 

(It sounded suspiciously like John.)

 

Smoke curled from his lips as he opened his mouth to talk, but his voice caught. He cleared his throat to cover it up.

 

Brian laughed humorlessly. “You have nothing to say for yourself?” Roger avoided eye contact, opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

 

 _Say something,_ anything! He could feel sweat beading at his neck, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

 

Brian waited several moments before his patience ran out. “Well, that’s settled then! Get out,” Brian sneered.

 

“What?” Roger was dumbfounded.

 

“Get. Out.”

 

“Of my house? I understand that you’re mad at me, but I live here,”

 

“That’s not what I mean. Get. Out. Of Queen.”

 

“Wait a minute Brian,” Roger started, but Brian barreled on.

 

“Drummers can be replaced. Singers can’t. And if you have an issue with Freddie--” _and Christ, maybe even Deaky,_ Brian thought -- “you might as well get the fuck out now.”

 

Ouch. Brian tended to say things he didn’t mean when he was upset, but it was never really aimed at him.

 

Brian let out an exasperated chuckle, an ugly sound. “I mean, Freddie was never exactly subtle. Why did you let him join us in the first place?”

 

“That’s different,” Roger muttered.

 

“Pray tell how exactly that’s different, Rog.” Brian got up from where he was leaning against the bar. The blond tensed, knowing exactly where this was going. “You hate faggots,” He hefted the glass ashtray into his hand. “And he likes men!” Brian spat out as he hurled it at the wall.

 

Roger winced at the sound of glass shattering into a million pieces. “...I guess it was a good thing I was planning on replacing the wallpaper anyways.”

 

Brian practically growled with fury. “Good thing? _Good thing_?” Brian reached for a bottle of rum and a bottle of brandy and threw them too, as well as smashing a few chairs for good measure. Roger moved his stool out of the direct line of fire. Brian was typically the voice of reason in his life, a grounding figure. But when he got going, his fits were near legendary. Roger watched with a sort of detached interest, knowing that he had brought it upon himself.

 

Brian panted with rage, staring into Roger’s eyes. It took a while for his breath to return to normal, but when he did, there was an eery calm to his words. “Seriously. Roger,” He turned his back to the man. “What’s gotten into you? I need you to be serious with me for once in your fucking life, and tell me the truth.” he said softly.

 

He was met only with silence.

 

Brian scoffed. “Bloody typical,” he snapped. Shrugging on his coat, and grabbing his keys, he started to reach for the knob of Roger’s front door.

 

Roger weighed his options. He had never talked about his feelings around the matter, purposely building walls around himself and skirting around the topic when it came up in conversation. Freddie had occasionally teased, poked and prodded, but he knew when to back off. Brian had never asked, but they knew each other for so long, he probably just assumed he knew everything. But he was wrong. Roger had intentionally repressed it for decades now, and telling the truth would dig up an ugly part of himself he didn’t want to examine.

 

But he couldn’t stand the sight of Brian’s retreating figure. He thought of John’s smile, and balled his hands into fists. He came to a decision in a split second.

 

“I don’t have a problem with blokes liking blokes,” Roger spoke as if talking to a wounded animal.

 

Brian paused. He cocked his head to the side as if to say ‘ _go on_ ’.

 

“The problem is... _me_ liking blokes,” Roger’s voice was watery. He could feel the hot tears threatening to spill over. He was hoping Brian wouldn’t have noticed, but it was too late.

 

“Oh god,” Brian whispered, horrified. He rushed back to Roger’s side.

 

“No, don’t look at me,” Roger covered his face with his hands, not wanting the other man to see his pathetic state.

 

“No, no no no, no. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. I misunderstood,” Brian cooed, completely apologetic. Brian gently removed his arms from his face and embraced him gently. Roger began to sob as quietly as possible into his soft shirt, wrapping his arms around his best friend.

 

“My father… it’s just that he--”

 

“Roger, please. I understand.” Brian freed himself from their hug, pulling out a handkerchief. _Of course he has a handkerchief, fucking nerd,_ Roger thought fondly. Brian brushed the hair away from Roger’s wet cheeks and dabbed at his face. “You don’t need to tell me anything until you’re ready.”

 

Roger nodded. “Would you like another hug?” Roger nodded again. They held each other in their arms once more. Roger, crying soundlessly. Brian, stroking his hair.

 

Brian mentally sighed. _What am I going to with you now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review on your way out. 
> 
> P.S. this title is sort of a lazy placeholder title... if y'all have better ideas, I'm all ears. Or, eyes. Because I can't hear what you write. (It's 1:30 am.) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Since when did you guys know that I was going to be the bass player?” 
> 
> Roger threw back his head and let out a laugh. “Depends on who you ask,” he admitted.
> 
> “It took Freddie and Brian a while to get their collective heads out of their asses.” He took another swig of his beer. “But me, personally? I knew since the moment I set my eyes on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely blown away by the response I got for the first chapter of this! Thank you all so much for your kind and encouraging comments. I have decided to move forward with this fic, and all the thanks goes to you guys. 
> 
> John's point of view. This story is non chronological (meaning the chapters are out of order).

“Sorry, I just need to go use the restroom.”

 

John flitted away, dodging people’s elbows and drinks, beelining for the stairs.

 

_Why am I here again? Right, Freddie damn Mercury. That’s why I’m here._

 

He had been through this song and dance before, and he was rather tired of it. Freddie would always try to make him attend the afterparty of a show (“Let loose! Unwind! C’mon Deaky, don’t you see the glamour of being a rockstar?”) and John would always attempt to refuse (“Really, I’m fine. I need to catch up on sleep”).

 

This would then follow by Freddie pouting and/or guilt-tripping him (“I went through all the trouble of planning this party and you won’t even attend!”) and Brian following suit with a business argument in mind (“It really would be to our advantage if you helped us network.”). The grand finale was always Roger’s shit-eating grin as Freddie and Brian asked for a third opinion. Behind their backs, John always silently (and desperately) tried to get him to come to his rescue using hand gestures.

 

(“Brian’s got a point there John. And aren’t you the one always managing the finances? Let’s go make some connections.”)

 

At this point, the only hand gesture John was making involved one _choice_ finger.

 

_Bah. As if they were going to do anything else than get blackout drunk and snog some women. “Networking” my arse._

 

His steps quickened. John was tired of getting pulled into conversations asking him to gossip about other members of the band or partake in an orgy. While the alcohol was definitely something he didn’t mind, the suffocating crowd he did.

 

John was almost to the banister of the stairs when he was intercepted by a familiar mop of brown curls.

 

Brian gave him a calculating look from where he was standing on the stairs that melted into one of pity. He reached out to tug at John’s sleeve.

 

“You okay there Deaky?”

 

John resisted the urge to jerk his sleeve out of Brian’s soft grip. He knew that he only cared about his well being (especially since he was the youngest) but John couldn’t help the burst of irritation that came with Brian foiling his escape plan. Why was everyone in the band so damn touchy? He tamped down on his feelings and took a deep breath.

 

“I’m fine. I just want to get some rest, that’s all,” John sighed.

 

Brian nodded and let his arm fall to his side. “I saw Roger head up there a while ago, so make sure you aren’t interrupting any, ah… aerobic activities,”

 

John knew it was quite juvenile, but he really rolled his eyes then. Why everyone thought he was such a blushing virgin was anyone’s guess.  “I can protect myself from the perils of Roger’s sex life,”

 

“...I know, I just wanted to warn you.” Brian put his hands up and backed off.  


The corners John’s lips tugged themselves into a rare smile. Or what he would call a smile anyways. “...Thanks, Brian.”

 

Brian held up his beer in response as he was slowly absorbed by the crowd.

 

John took that has his cue to scamper to the next floor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was something magical about being upstairs when a party was happening below you.

 

John could hear the muted chatter of partygoers as he made his way through the hall. Moonlight filtered itself into the hall from the ajar bathroom door. He walked slowly so he could savor his time, and not interrupt whatever “recreational activities” Roger was up to.

 

When he was in philosophy doing an independent project, his favorite discovery was the idea of ‘liminal spaces’. He knew he was residing in one now when he felt the floor raise itself to meet the soles of his feet. John hadn’t quite left the party, but he wasn’t in his room either.

The place they were renting was rather luxurious this time because they no longer had to share rooms anymore. While John personally didn’t mind sleeping in the same room as Freddie, Brian was getting ready to strangle Roger. (Something about sleepwalking?) He had to admit it was nice having his privacy.

 

Something that irked him was that the privacy provided meant that Roger’s womanizing activities had increased exponentially. He was just sick of having strangers over all the time.

 

That was why it was a bit bizarre for him when he saw the lack of a signature tie around his doorknob.

 

“...What was that damn Blake quote again?” he whispered to himself, brow furrowed.

 

John pressed his ear to the door. _He’s probably asleep._

 

Silence.

 

That was strange. Roger usually snored. Not as loud as Freddie, but it should definitely be audible.

 

“Roger?”

 

No reply.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

The silence was louder than the party underneath him.

 

“In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between them, there are doors,” John muttered as he turned the knob.

 

He was greeted with a horrifying sight. The window had been propped open, Roger’s clothes were littered all over the floor, and he was nowhere to be found. In his hazy state, John immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion.

 

“Oh my god, Roger!” He cried out, running to the window. He craned his neck out, preparing to see the bloodied corpse of his friend in their garden, but he only saw the tomatoes that Freddie planted last week.

 

“Yes?”

 

John must’ve jumped up a foot in the air because nothing could’ve prepared him for his very much _not-dead_ Roger lounging on the roof--shirtless?-- with a beer and a cig in hand.  

 

“Oh thank god!” His heartbeat was pounding. _There is no way this is healthy for my blood pressure._ “I thought you had drunkenly fallen to your death,” His relief immediately dissipated into anxiety and anger. “Get down from there! You’re bloody buggering drunk!”

 

“Geez Deaky, you really need to lay off the crime novels.” Roger took a drag of his cigarette.  
  
“No! I wasn’t implying you would get murdered, you’re stupid enough to kill yourself on your own already!”

 

Roger put a hand on his forehead dramatically. “I’m hurt,”

 

John understood Brian’s compulsion to strangle Roger now. “Please, get down from there!” John was pleading now.

 

“Come get me yourself,”  he said with a cheeky grin.

 

John’s voice was barely a whisper now. “Please, Roger. I’m scared you’ll get hurt,”

 

Roger looked at him, surprised. “John…” he broke eye contact with him to look back up to the sky. “I promise you. It’s perfectly safe. It’s not even that steep up here. You don’t need to worry about me,”

 

 _He never uses my first name_ , he thought. _Something is terribly wrong._

 

“Well… I guess you’d be safer if there was someone up there to keep an eye on you, huh?” John replied shakily.

 

“What did you say Deaky?” He stuck one leg out the window. I got this.

 

He brought up his other leg and promptly tripped over the windowsill. He sprawled on the shingles. “Deaky!”

 

“I’m okay, I’m okay. No really, I don’t need help.” regardless of what he said, Roger helped him back up.

Once they had settled back on the roof, Roger offered him his cigarette. John shook his head in refusal. “Suit yourself,” Roger blew a cloud of smoke into the sticky summer air.

 

“If I have some, will that make you feel better?”

 

He raised an eyebrow in response. “Have you ever smoked before?”

 

John smiled, mischief in his eyes. He took the cigarette between his fingers. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve, but it’s been a while,” He took a drag. _Let’s see if I can do this correctly._ Slowly pushing the smoke out, John tapped his cheek gently.

 

Roger looked at his smoke rings in admiration as they gently spun into oblivion. “I can’t even get mine to spin. There’s a lot more to you than we know, isn’t there Deaky?”

 

“Maybe,” He passed back the cig.

 

Roger laughed in response as he took another swig of his beer. “Got anything else surprising up your sleeve?”

 

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out.” He said mockingly.

 

Roger snorted, chuffed. John was secretly pleased with himself. “You’re so cheeky, you know that? Everyone thinks you’re so pure and angelic but you’re just as much as a little shit as everyone else,”

 

“You caught me,” John grinned. “So... what are you doing up here instead of ‘making some connections?’”

 

“I knew that was going to bite me in the arse at some point.” he laughed forcefully. “I came up here to look at the constellations,”

 

“We both know you only know Orion’s belt and the Big Dipper. Brian’s complained about it to me before.”

 

“So what? I came here to stargaze,” Roger shot back.

 

“...”

 

A sort of quiet settled in. “Do you actually want to know?”

 

“Of course. There’s a party in our honor and we’re up here. We both know that that isn’t my scene, but you? You belong there,” There was a pause. “I make a pretty good confidant, if I do say so myself.”

 

Roger bit his lip, mulling over his words. His shoulders tensed, raising a few inches.

 

“...I dunno, I guess I’m just tired of having the same inevitable routine of hooking up with girls at parties. ” The tension bled out of his shoulders.

 

“Really?” John fought to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “I thought that was, well, your thing,”

 

“I know, I know, I just.” He stubbed out his cig. “I sort of want a real relationship,”

 

There was a pang of something in John’s chest. “Then go for one. But I highly doubt you can get a real relationship if you shag girls before you know their names,”

 

“It’s not as if I haven’t tried before,” Roger sighed. “It just never worked out. No matter how hard I tried to keep it together, or convince myself I love her, it just falls apart before my eyes. And I’m sick of it,” He finished off the rest of his beer and chucked the can off the side of the roof. “I thought the girls would help, but it’s just. A constant reminder of what I can’t have,”

 

John nodded in return. He hesitantly put his hand on Roger’s shoulder in what he hoped was comforting. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Oh no, it’s fine. I mean, I always have you guys here for me. And it hurts, but the band is really all I need,” there was a bittersweet satisfaction to his words. “So you’re not going to make fun of me?”

 

“Of course not.” John frowned. “Why would I ever do that?”

 

“I don’t know, I’m sort of a ladies man. I was just worried that someone might call me a, a fag or something.”

 

“No,” John muttered. “I wouldn’t,”

 

They looked away from each other awkwardly.

 

“Enough about me. I’ve spilled my guts to you on multiple drunken occasions. What do you have to tell me, Deaky?”

 

“Nothing really,”

 

“Nothing? You don’t have anything to ask either?” Roger pushed back his hair. “Nothing you’re curious about at all,”

 

“I-I,” John’s eyes darted to Roger’s shirtless figure against his will before returning to their rightful place.

 

“Since when did you guys know that I was going to be the bass player?”

 

Roger threw back his head and let out a laugh. “Depends on who you ask,” he admitted.

 

“It took Freddie and Brian a while to get their collective heads out of their asses.” He took another swig of his beer. “But me, personally? I knew since the moment I set my eyes on you.”

 

John snorted. “Really now? Me, plain ol’ John Deacon?” he said with a self-deprecating tone. “Of _course_ you knew.”

 

Roger frowned. “Yeah. I did,”

 

John shook his head and buried his head in between his knees.

 

He scooted over closer to where John was on the roof, dirt rolling down the shingles. “Roger, wha--?” Suddenly, Roger’s hands were on John’s face. He shivered, his flushed cheeks burning in contrast to Roger’s hands, still cold from holding the beer.

 

_If only you knew how beautiful you are._

 

Roger pressed their foreheads together, sticky with sweat.

 

“...John, it was you.” He closed his eyes, tasting Roger’s breath on his tongue. “It was always going to be you.”

 

John could feel a little moisture in his eyes, but he would never let go of his tears. “You really think so?”

 

“Look at me,”

 

John separated himself from the older man with hesitation, forehead tingling from where they were pressed together. His eyelids fluttered open.

 

Suddenly, he was lost in the depths of Roger’s eyes. He was breathtaking, from his ocean eyes to his pouty lips.

 

“It has, and always will be you. Never let yourself think otherwise.”

 

John’s mouth went dry. “...Are you sure I’m not expendable?” he bit his lip. “Or, or easily replaceable?” The alcohol had tugged something loose in his chest, and the words were tumbling out of his mouth like loose change from a slot machine.

 

“...I’m so sorry we let you think that Deaky,”

 

Roger’s hands dropped from his face and his arms looped themselves loosely around his shoulder. He embraced John and tucked himself into the crook of his neck as if he belonged there.

 

“God knows you’re the best bass player I’ve ever seen, but more importantly, we love you so much.” He whispered into his neck.

 

Starstruck, John held him tighter in return.

 

Roger only squeezed back gently. “Can I touch your hair?”

 

“...Y-yeah?”

 

He gently stroked John’s hair with his hands, detangling the strands with his fingertips. “Sorry if this seems strange,” Roger giggled. “This is what Brian does when he tries to make me feel better.”

 

John felt a warmth radiate from his chest. _He’s trying to cheer me up._ “Thank you,”

 

He felt fingernails on his scalp. Roger only hummed in response.

 

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped around each other in a comforting embrace. Silence between two people is typically uncomfortable, but this silence wrapped around the two like an old quilt. Cozy, warm. Felt like home.

 

John admired the stars. _There’s something nice in knowing how insignificant you are,_ he thought.

 

“Roger, a shooting star!”

A streak of light shot across the sky, waving its hello from the heavens.

 

Roger whipped his head around in time to see the end of the ephemeral sight.

 

They sat together in the aftermath, the universe winking down upon them. Roger bumped his shoulder against John’s. “What did you wish for?”

 

“For us--the band--to be successful,”

 

“...You’re always looking out for us, huh?” Roger slowly gave him a toothy grin. “Our guardian angel,”

 

“Maybe. What did you wish for?”

 

Roger’s smile transformed into something sadder, maybe a bit more wistful. “It’s a secret,”

 

“You cliché bastard.” John laughed.

 

“Fine, I’ll give you a hint. It’s something selfish,” he sounded bitter then.

 

 _Oh_.

 

John went for the most comforting tone he could. “You know you can talk to me about anything, yeah?”

 

The blond nodded, jerky. He was fiddling with his pinky ring, shaking slightly. He silently stood up and flicked his cigarette butt off the roof before he ambled back into his window.

 

John felt guilty, although for what, he wasn’t sure. _Did I say something wrong?_

 

He followed the drummer back into the house, feeling oddly hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly a happy ending (again). Sorry for that, but I felt it was important to have good and bad mixed into every chapter, and today's chapter has decided to end itself on a bittersweet note.
> 
> Fun fact: this story seems to have taken me to the roof this time, which is based slightly on real events. my roommate and I smoked and drank wine on the roof of our dorm while looking at the stars together. It's funny, because I started writing this before we did that. Life imitates art?
> 
> I'm still looking for a beta reader! Message me at http://irleggsies.tumblr.com/ if you're interested. I'm also still looking for a better title. Additionally, if you have any ideas about where you want the story to go next, comment them, because I don't have any ideas either. 
> 
> Please leave a review on your way out. Thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: self harm

Cigarette after cigarette. Drink after drink.

 

Roger sat alone, in the darkness of his room. He could hear John fiddling on the bass through the walls, even though the amp was unplugged. He memorized what he was doing from the pattern of his footsteps, an odd tic and even odder comfort. 

 

He crawled through the darkness, cringing with every noise he made.  _ It’s strange that I have a body,  _ he thought. He felt it difficult to believe that he wouldn’t just melt out of existence and fall through the floor.

 

Everything felt muted. Even the soft, unspeakable sadness radiating from his bones. He stared at the soft light coming from his cigarette. 

 

_ God Roger, why can’t you feel anything? Anything! Feel it! Do something! _

 

There was a searing pain on his wrist. _ Huh. _ Curious, he did it again.

 

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe the wrong synapses in his brain fired. Roger stared at the two perfectly sized burns on the side of his wrist. Body trembling, he dropped to the floor with a loud thud. The cigarette butt bounced off of his bed.

 

He could hear the blood rushing through his head. The ash flaked from his skin.

 

_ I can’t do this right now _ , he thought. He crawled into bed with his dirty laundry. The headrush kept coming and the heat from his wrist wouldn't let up.

 

Roger didn’t notice that the bass playing had stopped until the tentative steps were right at his door. There was a quiet knock.

 

“...you okay Rog?”

 

He stayed miserably silent.

 

John silently, and almost hesitantly, ambled back to his room.

 

_ That was your one chance not to be alone and you blew it. Why do you always sabotage yourself? _

 

The tears silently dripped onto his pillowcase. 

 

_ Fag. You should be mature enough not to fucking cry anymore. _

 

He squeezed the burn, fingers digging into his wrist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update: 1/22/19  
> so.... i changed my mind about this fic. i'm not moving forward with this piece but i will continue writing it, just as a one shot. when i am done i will post the whole thing as a separate fic. the scenes i already posted will be included, but things will probably be moved around. sorry to disappoint, i just realized it would work better for me. i will update this piece when i post the entire fic. thanks everyone <3 i think the finished product will be much better.


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